


Roots to Branches

by Thesseli



Series: Prodigies [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Crossover, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Earth-Warders, F/M, M/M, Nephilim, Post -Episode s01e18 Scheherezade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesseli/pseuds/Thesseli
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have finally found their son, but their problems are only beginning.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Prodigies [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606876
Comments: 18
Kudos: 54





	1. Night Terrors

The night before…

“Aziraphale, Crowley, it’s been hours – what happened?” Anathema asked worriedly. Nobody had expected they would take so long, not since they’d pinpointed the location of their son. A few angelic and demonic miracles to get them in and out (and to disable the security cameras), plus whatever time it took the former archangel of healing to do his job; it should have been less than an hour. But here it was, nearly morning.

“How did it go?” asked Newt, and then decided he didn’t want to know. The angel looked stricken but remained silent, while the demon went straight for the alcohol. “Did you find your son, and were you able to heal him? Is he all right now?”

Crowley’s face was ashen. “He’s all right. Just…took a lot out of me, is all.” He took a deep drink from the bottle.

“It’s more than just that,” said the witch. Something was wrong, she could see it in their auras. 

“We knew it would be bad, with him being both demon and angel. We just didn’t know how bad.” Crowley took another drink and rubbed his forehead. “We didn’t even know what kind of hospital he was in, until we got there. We probably should have done a little more research before charging in as soon as we knew where he was.”

“He was locked up in a cell,” Aziraphale said in a soft, anguished voice, once he was finally able to speak again. “He’s been in there for twenty years, because he’s dangerous. That’s what kind of hospital he’s in.” He swallowed hard. “And I…I didn’t expect him to look quite so much like me. I don’t know why, but since all this started I’d always had it in my mind that he would resemble Crowley. It was...quite disconcerting, given who and what he is.” 

Anathema gazed at him sadly. She was surprised as well, that the offspring of the principality and the healer wouldn't resemble its mother. “We knew the combination of angel and demon meant instability,” she replied. “But you *were* able to help him, weren’t you?”

Crowley nodded. “Took a bit of fancy unweaving and reweaving, but it’s what I was made for. That and making stars.” He shrugged as if it hadn’t been a big deal; the exhaustion on his face showed otherwise. “Both the angelic and demonic aspects in him were pure and essentially unbalanced. Like a Qlippoth.” Here he turned to Newt. “A remnant of the process of creation before cosmic equilibrium was established,” he explained. “I needed to balance both parts so they would no longer be at war with each other – had to resolve the binary between them so they would function as one. Once that was done, the rest was easy.”

Newt rolled his eyes at the word ‘easy’. “So that’s why it took such a long time.”

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale replied, no longer appearing so shaken. “We stayed with him afterwards, for as long as we could after the healing was complete. We told him about who we were and where we came from, and where he came from, and that we would be there for him now.”

“How did he react?”

The angel cocked his head as he considered his response. “Fairly well, to be honest. He said he’d always known he was different from other people, he just didn’t know how different.”

Anathema smiled. “I suppose finding out your parents are ancient celestial beings isn’t something anyone expects.”

“Nope. And here’s another thing that wasn’t expected,” added Crowley, handing the bottle of wine to the angel. “When we first arrived, before we’d said or done anything related to miracles or magic, he knew we were there. And he could tell we weren’t human.”

“Which brings up a complication we hadn’t anticipated…and I’m not referring to him being able to sense celestial energy like we can,” said Aziraphale pointedly, before taking a sip of the wine. “He said we were ‘like the other one’ who’d come to his cell, and he didn’t mean the being we’d tracked that led us to him.”

“There was another non-human presence there before you?” she asked in alarm. “Do you know who or what it was?”

Now it was the demon’s turn to look shaken. “We asked him to tell us what it looked like,” said Crowley, taking the bottle back from the angel and downing half of it. “And when he did, he gave us a pretty good description of Hastur.”


	2. Love and Monsters

“A Duke of Hell was there some time before you were?” Newt asked in disbelief. “Trying to find your son before you did?”

“We’re not too clear on that part,” the demon confessed. “Hastur didn’t seem to know who our son was, just that he wasn’t human. Said he was possessing a human body – wearing it – and asked him if he was ‘working with the traitors.’ So Hastur must have known we were involved…just not the true nature or extent of our involvement. With Martin. That’s our son’s name, Martin.” There was a faint smile on his face, and he took a sip of the wine. “Suits him.”

“The protective field Crowley placed around him when he Fell was still up when Hastur met him. Hastur didn’t ask who he was, but what he was,” Aziraphale added. “So even if he or anyone else in Hell knew we were looking for someone, they didn’t know the real reason why. If he had, he wouldn’t have needed to ask.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, Crowley had to dismantle the field to heal him; and now our child is going to show up on both Heaven and Hell’s radar. I’m worried that once his identity becomes known, one or both sides may try to hurt him, to get to us. We’ve already placed some wards, but we’ll need to do more.”

Anathema nodded slowly. “What else did Hastur say to him?”

Aziraphale looked a little uncomfortable at that. “Surprisingly little.”

“Our son broke Hastur’s neck!” Crowley enthused, wrapping an arm around the angel’s shoulders and squeezing. “Our son, with no idea he was anything other than a normal human being, was confronted by a demon in what he thought was a dream. And he discorporated him! A Duke of Hell! I could not be more proud of our boy right now, angel, I really couldn’t.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Erm…yes. Our son is apparently rather skilled in that area. Discorporating people, so to speak.”

Now Crowley had the good grace to look uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, but determined, and he steeled his expression to something more serious. “I hate to say it, but yes, he is. Our son is currently a resident of a facility called Claremont Psychiatric Hospital. You may have heard of him.” He paused. “His full name, his human name, is Dr. Martin Whitly.”

Newt’s jaw dropped. “The American serial killer? Didn’t he murder nearly two dozen people before he was caught?”

The demon’s reply was almost apologetic. “Yes.” 

“And you’re just going to, I don’t know, keep interacting with him? You said before you even found him how dangerous he might be, and I guess now we know how much—“

“He’s fine now,” insisted Crowley, hoping to soothe the fear of both the humans in the room. “The incompatibility between angel and demon was what made him mentally unstable. I fixed that. He’s perfectly sane now; I healed him.”

“You were able to heal a psychopathic murderer, so he’s no longer a psychopath anymore?” said Anathema dubiously. “So, what, he’s a saint now?”

“He’s still half demon, so obviously not,” Crowley replied, somewhat offended. “And while he’s also half angel, they’re not all sweetness and light either. Just look at Gabriel.”

“Neither angels nor demons seem to care very much about human life,” the principality said ruefully. “Even though we were given the command long ago to love the humans. I don’t know what happened between then and now.”

“Speaking of humans, and humanity,” Newt began. “You said that your son looks like you. How is that possible, if he’s possessing a human body? How did he even come to possess a human body at all?”

Crowley shrugged. “The same way Aziraphale possessed Madame Tracy’s, I would think. He either found a willing body, or an empty one.”

“An empty one that was still in the womb, between the time of conception and quickening, before another soul had the chance to claim it,” explained the angel. “This is more likely, given that Martin has a full set of childhood memories. And him being in that body for so long would have given him considerable control over its appearance.” He paused, frowning. “What I don’t understand, though, is how he could have chosen *my* features, even subconsciously. He’s never seen me before now.”

“I think I might know why,” said Crowley, resting a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Remember when I told you that you were my last thought as I Fell? I meant it. And I think that may have somehow imprinted your image not just into my mind, but our child’s.”

The look on Aziraphale’s face was one of wonder. “I will treasure that,” he said softly. “But for now, I believe we need to shore up our defenses…and not just ours, but Martin’s as well. If Heaven and Hell don’t already know who he is, they will soon. He and his entire family could be in danger. They’ll all need protection.”

“His…family,” Anathema repeated. “The serial killer has a family?”

Crowley smiled. “The being we followed that led us to Martin? It wasn’t a tulpa or servitor. It was his son. His half human son.”

The witch’s eyes narrowed. “A Nephilim?” she asked, and he nodded. “I thought all those were killed in the Flood.”

“All the ones that existed at the time. This one’s new. Oh – and we think there are more of them, but this is the only one that’s been actively producing disturbances on the non-physical planes. He popped up – popped in, actually, he appeared on the astral right in front of us – when we were healing his father. Judging by his reaction, I’m guessing he saw our true forms.”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to look pleased. “He seems quite skilled at astral projection, obviously inherited from his celestial side. Most humans can’t dreamwalk like that.”

Newt crossed his arms; he’d obviously picked up a few things since meeting Anathema. “Nephilim are dangerous, right?”

“…Probably,” the demon admitted. Then he frowned. “This one didn’t seem to be.”

“He can’t be.” Aziraphale regarded the demon fondly. “Crowley, we frightened that poor boy half to death. We have to make it up to him,” he declared. “Besides, Martin asked if we could help him, and we said we would. We owe it to him.”

Crowley took another deep drink from the bottle, then rubbed his forehead. “I’m not sure if I can heal psychological damage, angel. Bodily issues, yes – material, etheric, and astral bodies included – but from what Martin said our grandson has multiple problems, including severe post-traumatic stress disorder. I don’t know how much I can do for him, even as the former Archangel of Healing.”

Aziraphale folded his hands beatifically. “All I ask is that you try.”

Crowley, of course, could never refuse his love anything. “Of course I will. Anything for you, angel.”


	3. Knock Knock

By that afternoon, everything was nearly back to normal for Malcolm. He’d received another call from Claremont, indicating that his father would be remaining in the medical ward until at least that evening. According to Mr. David, the Surgeon had calmed down considerably and seemed to be strangely at peace. Malcolm had updated his mother and sister on Dr. Whitly’s condition, with Jessica saying flat out it was too bad it hadn’t been a lightning strike after all, as it could have put them all out of ‘his’ misery for good. 

Soon after that call ended, however, the phone rang again. It was a number he didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Hello?” came the British-accented voice from the other end of the line. “Is this Malcolm Bright?”

“Yes…who is this?” he asked.

“My name is Anthony J. Crowley. My associates and I would like to speak with you regarding your father.”

“Are you from the hospital? Or are you reporters?” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. Since Ainsley’s interview with the Surgeon, there had been multiple requests from various news sources that wanted to interview the serial killer’s son. All had been turned down.

“Not at all,” came the reply. 

To Malcolm, the man didn’t sound like he was lying. “Interpol?”

“No, we’re not affiliated with them, we’re independent.”

The profiler considered this. “Who exactly are you then?”

“A. Z. Fell and Company. We’re a sort of small group of private investigators. We’re here to offer our assistance and support.”

That sounded unlikely. “Who gave you this number?” he asked.

A brief pause. “A member of your family.”

There was a faint scuffling sound then, followed by a woman’s voice, this time American. “Mr. Bright, my name is Anathema Device. We would like to speak to you about a matter of some importance. If that’s ok with you.”

Anathema Device. Malcolm had heard the woman’s name before – an heiress to a family that had made a series of brilliant investments over the years, if he recalled correctly. His mother had mentioned her on at least one occasion, hoping to secure some charity donations. And at least she was polite, as well as more forthcoming than this Crowley person. “All right. Where and when would you like to meet? There’s a little café I know—“

“Oh! We’re actually right outside your building. We were in the neighborhood.”

Bemused, Malcolm peered out his window to see four figures standing on the street below. The woman waved up at him. 

He blinked. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them now; his father was apparently stable and he wasn’t working at the station that day. “Ok, I’ll be right down.” He made a mental note to ask his mother why she’d sent these people to him without bothering to tell him beforehand. He went downstairs and opened the door, preparing to greet them…and then his eyes widened in shock. 

“I’m very sorry if my appearance disturbs you,” one of the men on his doorstep said regretfully. He was fair-haired and sounded British, the same sort of accent as the man who’d been on the line first. “And I hope that you’re still willing to speak with us.”

Malcolm closed his mouth and nodded quickly. He wasn’t going to let this stranger’s resemblance to his father keep him from meeting with these people; not only would it make him seem (more) psychologically unstable, but turning them away now would be just plain rude. “Of course,” he replied, ushering them in as introductions were made all around. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off this…apparition of his father. When he’d opened the door for them the man had initially been facing away from it, as if trying to hide his appearance for as long as possible. Given Malcolm’s reaction, he’d probably done the smart thing. 

This man and Dr. Whitly had to be related, that was obvious. They just had to be, even though Malcolm didn’t know of any family members in Britain, or any with the surname Fell. But he supposed anyone who looked that much like a notorious serial killer would probably want to keep his head down and stay out of the public eye as much as he could.

Once they were all inside the apartment and the door had closed behind them, the woman – Ms. Device – turned to face him directly, her demeanor now deadly serious. “Mr. Bright, we have it on good authority that your family is in danger, and we’re here to help.”

“My family’s in danger?” Malcolm repeated evenly, not letting any emotions show. He could sense her fear as well as the young man’s; it had been obvious to him as soon as they’d come face to face. “Who could my family be in danger from? The most dangerous person we know is incarcerated, and will be for the rest of his life.” If they were referring to the mystery man Sophie Sanders had dirt on, he was certain he could bluff his way through this. His father hadn’t exactly been generous with the details of the situation…but if this was in fact the case, how would these people have known about it at all? 

“We’re not talking about your father,” the blond man stated. “It’s something much bigger and much more dangerous. They may be after you right now, and we don’t know how much time we have before they decide to come here and try to figure out who you are, who your father is, and how *we* are involved.” He indicated himself and the others, and Malcolm thought again how uncannily similar this man was to his father. They could have been twins. Well, apart from this man’s eyes. These did not have the predatory gleam of his father’s, but rather, they seemed kind. Kind but worried, and determined.

Malcolm frowned slightly. “Well, if we really are in danger, we should go to the police. I’m sure you know that I’m a profiler for the NYPD—“

“I’m dreadfully sorry about this, but we need you thinking as clearly as possible, and as we’ve already said, we’re not sure how much time we have,” he declared. He stepped forward then and uttered something that sent chills down Malcolm’s spine, bringing back the events of the previous night full force. It was the same voice, the same unearthly intonation, and the same words.

“BE NOT AFRAID.”


	4. Deep Breath

Malcolm Bright fell back onto the couch, feeling the fear that had begun to overtake him fade into something more manageable – something wrapped up and controlled, that no longer triggered an instinctive reaction to bolt. But while he was not in the blind panic of the previous night, he found himself held motionless by the other man’s gaze. 

//Man? No.// 

“You…you said that,” he said in recognition, marveling at how steady his voice was. “Overnight, in my father’s cell. That was you.”

“Yes, it was,” the being replied, still gazing down at him with those kind, kind eyes. “I am Aziraphale, and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you. Crowley and I wanted to come see you today, both to apologize as well as to explain what you witnessed last night. We had no idea you would be there, or that you’d be able to sense us. We never meant to frighten you.”

“That was you and him?” He glanced between the blond and Crowley, wanting to be sure he was hearing this correctly. “At Claremont?”

“The two of us, yes,” replied the man in the dark glasses. “Sorry about that, our astral forms can be a bit of a shock for the unprepared. Again, we didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Astral forms?” The profiler regarded them warily, thinking about his father’s words in the infirmary that morning. “So you’re what’s been following me all this time, while I’m sleeping?”

Aziraphale nodded apologetically. “To be fair, though, we thought we were following your father. We were completely unaware anyone else would have a similar etheric signature. We were searching for him, not you.”

Crowley cocked his head, regarding Malcolm curiously. “Hold up, you could tell we were there? Even before last night?”

“Yes. For months.” It didn’t take a professional profiler to see that Crowley – whatever he happened to be – was surprised. “What are you, really?”

Aziraphale took a breath. “This will be difficult for you to accept, I know, but you must believe me when I say—“

“They’re celestial beings, created at the dawn of time before the Earth and the human race ever existed,” Newt blurted out. “Anathema and I are human, but she’s a witch, and I’m pretty much normal apart from making electronics malfunction. I don’t know how that part works. We’re here to help keep you and your family safe from the other celestial beings that are probably after you right now, because we know for a fact they’ve already approached your father.” At the incredulous looks from the others, Newt shrugged. “What? You were taking too long, and we have to get those wards up as soon as possible, right? So the forces of Heaven and Hell don’t show up in Malcolm’s living room?”

Crowley pinched his eyebrows together. “Smooth, computer boy. Very smooth.”

Malcolm’s expression was pained. “Now when you say the forces of Heaven and Hell, do you mean—“

“Angels and demons, all of whom are probably still very angry at Crowley and Aziraphale for stopping the world from ending a few years ago,” Anathema stated dourly. 

Malcolm shook his head, unable to hold back a brief bark of laughter. This situation had progressed from disturbing to ridiculous very quickly. “Angels and demons? You actually expect me to believe that? Who the hell are you, really?”

In response, Crowley stood before him and leaned down so they were face to face. “Your father did say we’d have to prove we’re not human.” The redhead removed his glasses, revealing a set of yellow eyes with slit, snakelike pupils. “See? Not human. Definitely not human.”

Malcolm folded his arms. “Nice contacts.” 

Crowley made a growling sound, but Aziraphale rested a hand on his shoulder. “Crowley, dear…Martin also said your eyes alone probably wouldn’t be enough to convince him.”

“Ugh. All right. But know that I am doing this under duress,” he declared. He rose to his full height and took a step back, then began taking off his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Malcolm demanded.

“Proving to you that we are exactly what we say we are, so we can stop all this foolishness and get this place warded against unwelcome celestials.” He handed his jacket to Aziraphale, then began taking off his shirt. 

“Wait, why are you—”

“Malcolm. Just watch,” said Aziraphale, as Crowley turned away from them. 

And then the profiler couldn’t help but stare, wide-eyed, as a set of pure black wings burst from the redhead’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, but I wanted to watch the first few episodes of the new season so I could figure out how to work them into this timeline.


	5. Oxygen

“Go on, take a good look at them,” said Crowley, flexing the wings before spreading them slightly. 

“They’re fake, right?” Malcolm didn’t know what else to say. They couldn’t be real, they just couldn’t…but there they were, right in front of him. “How am I expected to believe all this?” 

“Your father suggested it,” said Aziraphale. “He said you wouldn’t believe us otherwise, and we need you to. Your safety depends on it.”

Crowley looked over his shoulder, extending the wings further. “Go ahead, feel them. And the muscles in my back they’re attached to.”

Malcolm rose to his feet, cautiously reaching out to touch one of the feathers. He traced his finger along the length of it, down to the tip and then back up to where it joined the main body of the wing. It felt like living tissue, warm and firm, not artificial at all. He almost jumped back when Crowley flexed the wing again, but he could feel the unseen muscles hidden by the feathers. 

“This is…incredible,” he murmured, resting his hand against the bare skin of Crowley’s back. Again, he could feel muscle movement here as the wings moved back and forth. “What are you, really?”

“An angel and a demon,” said Anathema. 

Transfixed, Malcolm couldn’t take his eyes off the very-obviously-not-human figure before him. “You’re really an angel?”

“What?” Crowley sputtered indignantly, spinning around to face him. “No no, not at all. I’m the demon, he’s the angel,” he indicated Aziraphale. “Do I look like an angel to you?”

“Well…you look more like an angel than him, given that he has the face of a serial killer,” Malcolm said helplessly. “Sorry? I didn’t mean to offend you. Either of you.” He glanced nervously at Aziraphale, who just sighed and rolled his shoulders back. A moment later there was a pair of magnificent white wings behind him. 

“No offense taken,” said the blond. “Go ahead, my boy. Prove to yourself that these are real as well.”

“Just don’t ask him to take off his shirt. A proper Victorian gentleman like him wouldn’t be caught dead showing more skin than, oh, a proper Victorian matron,” the redhead chuckled fondly. 

Aziraphale looked mildly insulted, but there was a warmth in his eyes and a lurking smile as he gazed at the demon. “We can manifest our wings through our clothing, yes,” he stated, standing still as Malcolm investigated these as well. They were just as real as Crowley’s. 

Feeling more than a bit overwhelmed, Malcolm sank back onto the couch. “So…you two are an actual angel and demon,” he pronounced, trying to get his bearings. 

“Me and him, yes, although we both retired from our respective sides a few years ago,” replied Crowley, vanishing his wings and shrugging his shirt and jacket back on. “Anathema and Newt are human, like he said, but they’re friends of ours. They helped us find your father, and then your father helped us find you.”

“About that,” Malcolm began. “Why were you two looking for my father? Aside from the obvious reasons, that is.” He paused. “Divine retribution? Infernal punishment? Is that why an angel and demon would be working together?” The two beings were obviously close, that would have been obvious to him even without his profiling skills. 

Aziraphale’s wings disappeared as well, and he sat down in an unoccupied chair, fidgeting. He looked like he didn’t want to answer the question. “Not as such, no.”

Malcolm cocked his head. “Why did you want to find him, then?”

Crowley moved to stand at Aziraphale’s side, linking their hands together. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to answer either. Still, his jaw set resolutely, and when he spoke again his voice was firm and steady. “Because Martin Whitly is our son.”

“You may want to break out the alcohol right about now,” Anathema said dourly. “Because this is where it starts to get weird.”


	6. Human Nature

“Starts?” Malcolm had repeated. “Anathema, we moved way beyond ‘weird’ a long time ago.” 

Anathema couldn’t help but agree. Then she’d sat down alongside her boyfriend while Malcolm’s visitors explained who they were, how they’d met, and that the world had almost ended a few years ago. They’d talked about Eden and the Flood and oysters and agreements and everything leading up to the near-Apocalypse, as well as all that had happened afterwards. And that the former antichrist and his friends, now teenagers, had offered their aid in finding the previously unknown child of the angel and the demon, the guardian and the healer.

The fact that Martin Whitly was not a human being made an odd sort of sense to Malcolm. Celestials of both types had a very different perception of morality than humans, he’d been told, and it was only because Crowley and Aziraphale had spent thousands of years on Earth that they saw things so differently than either Heaven or Hell. His father may have come into existence nearly as long ago as the original celestials, but he’d been the equivalent of asleep for most of that time. Martin had only really been ‘alive’ for fifty-something years, nowhere near long enough to have developed the worldview of his parents. With time, and with the imbalance at the core of his being healed, there was every hope he would continue on the same path Aziraphale and Crowley had taken. 

Malcolm was used to seeing his father as a monster, or a dangerous animal…a highly intelligent one, but an animal nonetheless. This made it better, somehow.

It was still a lot to wrap his head around, however. Accepting that two men – or rather, man shaped beings from a non-physical plane of reality – could produce offspring, that Heaven and Hell were actual places, that magic was real…and that he himself wasn’t fully human.

It was disturbing, on multiple levels. Even with his father – supposedly – sane now. He hadn’t had the chance to talk with him since he’d left Claremont that morning, but they’d assured him that Dr. Whitly was in his right mind for probably the first time in his life. Martin Whitly could sense celestial energy, the others said, just like normal angels and demons could. It was how he’d known Hastur was in his cell, as well as Crowley and Aziraphale afterwards, and it was that same energy he’d been sensing in his son since Malcolm’s childhood. It was why he’d told Malcolm they were the same, even if he hadn’t understood why. It was the reason the younger man could ‘dreamwalk’, as Aziraphale put it, and why his profiling skills were just a little too good, and why he had an uncanny ability to get inside other people’s heads.

Maybe the Junkyard Killer had been able to sense some of that celestial energy too. Maybe that was why he’d worked with Dr. Whitly, and why he’d given Ainsley that statue of an angel. Because she was like Malcolm and their father too, and carried the same energy within her.

“My mother can never know about this,” Malcolm stated resolutely, later that evening. “Finding out her husband was a murderer devastated her, but if she ever learned her husband wasn’t human? It would kill her. Destroy her. You have to figure out how to set up the wards around her house without her seeing you.”

“I suppose there’s no way she would ever let anyone who looks like me into her home,” said Aziraphale, sounding rather regretful. “Pity, I would have liked to have met her. Your sister too.”

“I’m sure a clever boy like Malcolm can come up with a way to get his mother out of the house while we determine the best places for the wards,” Crowley replied. 

“If only you could just put up another shield around Martin, and the others too.” This was from Newt.

“I wish I could, but when I did that I was still an archangel, albeit one that was Falling...I have nowhere near that kind of power anymore,” the demon said ruefully. “I’m also not even sure what I did, to be honest. That memory really was burned out with my Fall.” He smiled at his partner. “I was made to heal, but Aziraphale here was made to guard. To protect. That’s what principalities do. We’ll get those wards up where your mom and sister live, just like we did here. I promise.”

“Ainsley and I are going to my mother’s for breakfast tomorrow morning…you could go to her apartment then. She’ll never know you were there.”

“Good thinking,” said Anathema. “And if you can find out your mother’s schedule while you’re at breakfast, it would be perfect. Once you do that, Aziraphale and Crowley will be able to ward her house as well.”

Malcolm nodded. He felt strangely uplifted. “Do you really think this is going to work?” he asked, not used to the feeling of having things – for once – going his way. 

“Of course it will work,” Crowley declared. “We’ve got this. We stopped the Apocalypse, we stood up to Heaven and Hell, and we *won*. We are experts in the field of magic and miracles, warding and protection, and nobody has the combination of experience and skills that we do. Nobody! So don’t you worry, Malcolm, just think of us as…as…” He paused, searching for just the right word, and his eyes lit up when he found it. “Professionals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This leads (as you can probably guess) directly into s01e19, 'The Professionals'.

**Author's Note:**

> “Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow” --  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HcF9zwe2uc


End file.
